


Oh I Don't Need Chocolates and Flowers (When I've Got You Baby)

by desreelee123



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desreelee123/pseuds/desreelee123
Summary: Three wins and five consecutive races later, Cruz Ramirez is set to rule the world.





	Oh I Don't Need Chocolates and Flowers (When I've Got You Baby)

Three wins and five consecutive races later, Cruz Ramirez is set to rule the world.

There remains but one roadblock though: Jackson Storm. In those five consecutive races after she made her debut into the spotlight, the two races that she did not win were the ones that he did win. The cheeky bastard with his slick-shiny paint and sharp blue highlights, cold and precise and fast.

But she’s faster.

And she knows that he knows it because Jackson Storm can be a jerk but he is no fool.

-

“Ramirez,” he grinds out, cordial and stiff and for once, professional. So unlike the vaguely misogynistic jibes that he uses to taunt her on the track. It’s the afterparty of the Daytona Beach race that she won.

The party is 99% classy, with the remaining 1% overrated nowhere to be seen, full of young, shiny racers eager to grab sponsors or grab girls that they would take home for the night. So typical for the macho world of racing.

Five races in and Cruz Ramirez is already more than a racer, more than what half of the men in the party that night can even imagine. She’s not cocky for thinking this. It’s a fact. And unlike Jackson, who is undoubtedly a good racer, an excellent one even on a good day, she doesn’t broadcast it in the form of cutting witticisms and snide remarks but instead, lets her actions do the talking.

It’s this stark contrast between them, she thinks, which makes all the difference.

“Storm,” she greets with a smile but with an underlying venomous quality that is meant to be warning.

“Nice party we’re having yeah?” he asks and she doesn’t really get the point in this but like what McQueen said, “Racing is just as much about playing nice with your fellow racers as much as it is about getting first place on the track.” An ironic thing for him to say, once she thinks about it.

“Yes, very nice indeed,” she answers politely because it is the logical and most correct thing for her to do. She was this close to settling for a life that was less than what she deserved. Now she’s going to have it all and she is not going to squander it over petty issues like what some young, fiery racers did before her.

His eyes, an intense shade of blue that is almost purple when the light hits him in a certain way, flit to hers and they just stand there, their gazes locked and neither one moving for a half a second before getting interrupted by a paparazzo with a DSLR.

“Storm! Ramirez! Can I take a picture of you two?”

They smile for the camera, all civil and calm but with a certain bite in their eyes that implies more than a fair serving of drama because a small but integral part of racing is also showbiz. Cruz only has enough time to take one breath before she is suddenly pulled away from Jackson.

“Hey Cruz, I got someone I’d like you to meet,” Tex Dinoco sidles up to her, as smooth and savvy as only a billionaire can be.

As Cruz makes her way to a media mogul or something, she can’t really be sure, the racer can’t help but feel that two very familiar eyes are staring at her.

-

Cruz remembers the first time she got a remodel.

It wasn’t anything major, just a change of wheels and a minor paint job.

But for her, it marked the start of something new, something that’ll turn her life around from what it was before Florida, before she met McQueen to be exact.

She remembers the distinct flavour of exhilaration as they put number 51 in big blocky cobalt font on her sides, right below the word DINOCO, and on her roof, and the feel of the new mag wheels with cobalt rims to match the colour of the lettering on her body.

Cruz Ramirez was no longer that little girl who was told by her deadbeat father who never did a single thing for her to dream small or to not dream at all or that nineteen-year old who walked out of her first official race.

She was way more than those now with her name already being spun into legend.

-

Early mornings and getting mud on one’s wheels. That is what counts for training for Lightning McQueen. It’s far from the sterilized, clean Rusteze training centre, which has treadmills for dirt roads and simulators for practice tracks. There is grime, dirt, and smoke all around and not to mention the oppressive heat of the desert.

Cruz Ramirez, for one, won’t have it any other way.

“Easy on the turns kid, else you slip and slide,” McQueen dictates sternly for what seems like the umpteenth time now. They’ve been through this dirt track many times, so many in fact that Cruz has already memorized every inch, every bend of it, probably just like Lightning had before her and possibly even Doc Hudson too.

Racing is not simply an occupation. It’s a lifestyle.

Distantly, Cruz imagines Jackson Storm on a simulator, steering and revving up his engine by turns and a light tingle of what feels like confidence bubble up inside of her.

-

The pre-race party of this season is, like always, 99% classy and 1% overrated. Thick, sweet oil flows from all around and some of the guests and more than a few of the racers can’t even get enough of it.

Cruz Ramirez, on the other hand, won’t even touch any of it. There is no space for the tiniest slip-up or even the smallest indulgence before a race where a single digit can determine between winning and losing. Instead, she plants herself in a spot where she can be easily found by those who need her and at the same time, observe all her fellow racers.

A knot forms inside her, like it always does before the start of any race but she shoves it away, tries to store it in the back of her mind so that she could unpack all of them tomorrow and draw her strength from them.

Turn negativity into positivity.

“Ready for the race tomorrow?” Jackson Storm, ever the sly little devil, suddenly appears next to her, a certain gleam in his eye that tells her he knows exactly what she’s doing. It would’ve fazed her before, back when she was still content to settle for a life that was less than what she intended for herself.

But five races in and Cruz Ramirez is no longer doubting herself.

“More than you’ll ever be,” she allows herself that one jibe, that one small statement and it feels oh so satisfying.

“Oh love,” he almost croons and Ramirez has to resist the urge to shove him into the nearest waiter, “I can’t wait for our mano y mano either.”

With that, Cruz glides away from him as Sally Carrera, along with McQueen and the rest of her crew, calls for her to join them.

“Was Storm giving you some trouble?” the kind lawyer asks, ever the caring friend.

“No, just Storm being Storm” she says, a small, sincere smile gracing her features. She loves them, her crew, loves them like the family she never had.

-

It’s the day of the race.

The mingled cacophony of forty-two other engines reverberates all around her and Cruz can’t help but think, “Yes, this is where I belong.”

Cruz Ramirez revs up. The light goes green. She takes off, smooth as steel and lightning fast.

The crowd goes wild.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey thanks for getting this far! I watched Cars last night and it was so nice! I immediately wrote this right after. Sorry if Cruz was a bit OOC but I wanted to capture her being comfy in her own skin and all and how being in the racing world has taught her to be confident and at the same time, a little bit hard-edged and aware. Kudos if you liked it and remember, constructive criticism is very much welcome. Comment below too if you have something to say!


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